


A Pirate's Wife for Me

by LadyStrangeandUnusual (Dream_Wreaver)



Category: Beetlejuice - All Media Types, Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Eventual Smut, F/M, Golden Age of Piracy, Musicalbabes, Pirate AU, Romance, Unresolved Sexual Tension, beetlebabes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:49:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28764342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dream_Wreaver/pseuds/LadyStrangeandUnusual
Summary: Beetlejuice is the demon captain of a ghostly pirate ship. But his treasure isn't just gold, it's also souls. After so many centuries haunting the waves though, he wants to see what it's like to take a shore leave in the land of the living. Only one problem; to do so he needs to find someone to share his life with. What happens when a morose and mourning debutante steals aboard his ship?
Relationships: Beetlejuice/Lydia Deetz
Comments: 12
Kudos: 30





	A Pirate's Wife for Me

**Author's Note:**

> Because I decided I don't have enough wips, so have another lol. I've been thinking about a pirate au a lot in the last couple years and finally decided to try and write it. Hope y'all enjoy!

Human kind by its very nature would always be drawn to the sea. To the siren’s call of distant lands brimming with untold treasure and wealth. Many had rolled their dice with the waves and lost themselves to the depths. But not all that haunted the sea had always been alive. If you were to ask any seasoned sailor they would say that the waters were home to plenty of monsters and demons. Ghosts aplenty roamed her waves, and only by Fortune’s blessings would you make it to shore unscathed. Nevertheless, the promise of fame, fortune, and glory were more than enough to spur on even the most timid of men. All over the world, people took to the water, trying to seek that which they felt would fulfill them. Some found what they sought, many others found only a watery grave. But what about those last moments of living, what was it they saw? What was it those who lived to tell the tales spoke of with grim solemnity, who was the reaper which roamed the seas? What poor soul was doomed to this eternal service?

The answer was there was no soul. For demons had none to spare. But nonetheless, he sailed his ship and crossed the world more times than he could count, though he never spent much time on land. The sea was more his home than the cold oblivion from which he had been spawned, and certainly more than the land on which he was surrounded and yet alone, present and yet unseen. So to the sea, with its endless mystery and sense of separation where the imagined could always become real, he always returned.

He had acquired many names over the centuries of his haunting, though he was known most popularly as Davy Jones. It was not correct, not in the least, as the name he had been given was perhaps far more terrifying; Betelgeuse. Though he supposed there was a logical explanation for his other title. Throughout time as mortals crossed his waves they spoke in hushed whispers, and he figured some enterprising sailors had simply given him the moniker of Davy simply so they could speak of him without inviting him aboard. Of course, that didn’t stop him in the least. With but a shred of will and a flick of his wrist he could attack ships and claim both treasure and souls alike. He was the demon of the seas. No one knew the truth behind the legends, claims were made he’d been borne of the waves and the devil itself. And the worst part was that one never knew when or where he might strike. If they were privy to the ways of the dead, they could prepare themselves somewhat, though as death came for everyone in the end, there was not much one could do but temporarily stave him off.

It was said that on foggy moonless nights his ghost ship, the Nether, would appear on the horizon, looking for hapless victims. If you were lucky, they said, he might just choose to strike a deal with you. Eternal service for your life, or something like it. They said he ran with a skeleton crew, though whether that meant he did much with few or his crewman were literal skeletons was left unclear. No one knew where he came from, but he was infamous enough that from Shanghai to the ports of the New World, hundreds of years later, he was known. Spoken of with hushed whispers, given a plethora of new names so that they would not risk inviting him aboard by the speaking of his true one. A popular one in many languages was the striped devil, due to the appearance of his black and white clothes. It was said he was a devil, a demon, with a form to match. But that too was unclear as it was said looking at it was like looking into the eyes of madness, and doing so would leave you impaired for the rest of your mortal days. But the one unforgettable thing all those who’d come across him remembered was his ear piercing, heart stopping, bone-chilling laugh. That which like the ripples on the waves stretched farther out than most humans would ever know.

Of course, with immortality, or rather an existence in which death cannot touch you -especially seeing as you are already dead- comes many things. Namely, time, and with time and profession as a pirate, came scores of ill-gotten wealth, often thought to have been lost at the bottom of the seas. Of course, a single ship could not handle such a massive haul, and with a bigger ship came a necessity for a crew simply so he did not exhaust his powers on manual labor. His deals came in handy there. But even so, the wealth grew to a point where it was simply more practical to create a base of operations, an island and from an island, an enterprise.

He had all most humans could ever want, fortune, power, infamy, fear. And yet, it simply was not enough. The longer he went on being dead, the more deals he made, the more lives he took and souls he put under his employ, the more he wondered what must it be like, to live? It was a question which was easily answered, since he had hundreds of copies of the rules by which the dead operated. But as with every rule, every contract, there was a loophole. One he could easily exploit. But an easy loophole didn’t come without its own strings attached. Attaining a life of his own was simple enough, on paper at least. For a being who had never had one, a life could only be granted to him through the sharing of another's. To bind souls together irrevocably, in other words, a marriage. He needed to find someone willing to marry him to grant him life. But though many would barter their service for their lives, not many would barter their hands. Many would also barter a night in his bed, but again, not many would be willing to irrevocably tie themselves to him.

Of course, that may have been due to the nature of his own limitations. He could not be seen by the living. When he struck, it was to mortals practically as good as dead. Sometimes, out of boredom and a desire for some attention, he let people live. They would speak and sing songs of fear about him and his ego would be sated. But the longer he continued on, the more he wanted to live for himself. The problem was that he needed a living person to agree to such a deal. And as the centuries had proven there hadn’t yet been born someone who would do so. But a good pirate knew how to make a deal, and he was certain all he needed was the right person to barter with.

BJ BJ BJ

The year was 1704, the place was the newly discovered gold mine of the West Indies, only discovered approximately some two-hundred years before. And ever since it had become a haven for those from mother Europe seeking to make their fortune. Towns rose up from the ground, built on the blood, sweat, and backs of the ones who had either been their first or imported just for the purpose. Perhaps one of the wealthiest men on these islands was Charles Deetz, having inherited an entire profitable sugar estate from his marriage to Emily Addams. The family had just moved some months before, and Charles had decided that was a good thing not only for the profit, but because just before they had been set to embark, Emily had taken the consumption and passed away. Lydia had never felt so lonely, not in the months it had taken to sail down the coast of the colonies to the West Indies from their home in New York, and not in the months since they had moved into the plantation’s manor house.

There had been one constant comfort since her mother’s passing, and that had been the sea. Her mother had always loved the sea, and she instilled in her daughter that same love of the water. They had spent many a day gazing out at the Hudson River, taking boat trips out along the waterway until they came to the mouth which fed out into the vast Atlantic. The sea connected the world, her mother had said, and thus people would always be connected by it, it was in a sense, their second home. Sometimes, Lydia felt as though her mother’s spirit had chosen to haunt the sea rather than go to heaven, and that if she could just hop aboard a boat, she would be able to sail off and find her, and then they could be together once more.

Matters in the course of her loneliness were not helped by her father’s sudden infatuation with Lydia’s new “governess” Ms. Schlimmer, a widower who Lydia was quite certain had her eye on the position left empty by her mother’s passing. Delia occupied a rather unique space, more than a servant, less than a noble, though she’d apparently once come from noble stock. But, as a widow her options were limited. Mistress or governess, though Delia appeared to be doing both. She wasn’t nearly as naive as her father liked to believe her, and there had been more than one time when Lydia had been doing her own sneaking about the house late at night and had spotted Delia tiptoeing about in the dark, usually from the direction of her father’s rooms.

And it hurt. Of course it hurt. It had only been six months since her mother’s eternal departure, and here her father was already moving on. Attempting to stay positive, to stay busy, and not think a thing about the woman he’d lost. The woman he’d claimed was the love of his life. The only thing that had kept Lydia from jumping off the roof, more than once, had been the Maitlands.

Adam and Barbara Maitland were a childless couple whose families had served under the Addams for many years. Adam was her father’s valet and head of the household, Barbara was his wife and the house keeper in charge of all the servants needed to keep an estate like this running. Having not been blessed with any living children of their own they treated Lydia like their own daughter, and had been a constant comfort in the months since Emily’s passing. But even they could not truly understand the depths of her rage, anger and heartbreak towards her father. They simply shrugged and said it was a matter that all gentlemen did. A year of mourning, of celibacy, that was expected by society, but truly it was only a performance. So long as one was not caught then there was no harm done. In essence, their positions held their tongues, choosing tradition over what was right. It was their only flaw, but one Lydia couldn’t fault them for. Despite having generational loyalty at their side her father was a capricious man, and it didn’t take much to sway him when irritated. And especially with Delia now becoming so close, expected by all privy to their affair that she would become the next lady of the house, it only made sense the Maitlands would see and say nothing in an attempt to curry favor instead of ire. They feared for their lives, because if they were turned out they could very well spend the rest of their lives on the streets.

But Lydia couldn’t take it. Especially not now that her father was now preparing for her debut. And by that, he was entertaining interest from several suitors, most of them close to his own age. She understood the logic behind the suits, she was young and fertile and wealthy, her dowry would entertain many men’s vices, and secure their legacies with hopefully as many sons as she could push out before she expired. Many of these men also had no heirs of their own and their desire was to keep the estate in as direct a line as was possible. But she was hardly sixteen, with her coming birthday to be her official coming out. Something she wanted no part of. But much as she tried to sneak away, someone always found her. She was fitted for all of the latest fashions, poked and prodded as the best modistes attempted to work their magic on her. Silks and lace and all the finest cloths, but in colors Lydia couldn’t stand. Dusky pinks and cheery yellows, all selected by a woman whose coloring fit them -Delia- and who had been put in charge of this element by her father. Lydia preferred her old blacks, a symbol of her mourning and would have gladly worn them the rest of her life, but her father insister otherwise. Even looking at the progress in the mirror Lydia felt she looked washed out and sickly, then again; maybe that was a good thing. No suitor in his right mind would want her for a bride, not if she looked like she could die after one child. Then again, considering the way the women were cooing over her appearance, maybe she only _thought_ she looked washed out.

She hated this. She hated all of it. All she wanted to do was lock herself in her room and waste away until she could join her mother again. But no. her father was preparing to parade her about and sell her off like chattel. There was no escape. Except, perhaps, one. Death. Death could be her escape. If not by wasting away, than by drowning. She could do that. Considering all the layers she had to wear in order to appear in society, it would be easy. All she needed to do was to sneak out to the battlements and tip herself off the edge. And if the drowning failed, there was always the possibility of painfully impaling herself on the breakshore rocks below. So either way, she would likely perish. Then she could be with her mother again, and her father… her father would surely be sorry. Yes, that was exactly what she would do. Of course, this had to be planned carefully. It would simply be too obvious if she refused to take off her clothes one night as she was prepared for bed. But perhaps she could get revenge in more ways than one.

After all, would it not be simply fitting that she left the world on the same day she’d come into it? And though he claimed to have moved on Lydia knew for a fact her father had yet to get rid of her mother’s old gowns. So in secret she’d taken her most favorite one, a stunning crimson gown with matching gloves, and had it taken to the modiste with the instructions that it was to be altered into something daring and risque. She would humiliate her father, on his own coin, and then she would die. She’d used a bit of her allowance to assure the seamstress’ silence. And had taken the trips with Barbara instead of Delia to ensure the utmost secrecy. She’d insisted to her ladies maid that this was the gown she would be wearing and in return, she would be gifted the gowns to sell or keep as she saw fit. The worth of those two dresses in and of themselves was more than most servants would see in their entire lives, and so it was well worth defying the master’s wishes for one night.

Lydia practiced, over and over, the note she would leave on her vanity as she snuck out of the party that fateful night. Trying to make sure that her father knew her anger and her sorrow, and that this truly was the only way she might feel alive again. At last she had her words perfected, and so the note sat hidden until the big night. When it came, she was ready. Dressed in her mother’s altered gown, looking every inch the beautiful and vivacious daughter, doing as her father had asked but on her own terms. She would certainly draw attention, especially as she’d decided to take a pair of sewing scissors to her long glossy black hair and chop it off into a rather boyish style, slightly jagged and uneven. To top it off she’d taken an Addams Family heirloom, her mother’s favorite piece, a strand of triple black pearls, and clasped it about her neck. The longest strand just touched the dip of her decolletage, drawing the eye along with the gleaming pearls. Perfect, everything was perfect. She could scarcely breathe, but that was part of the plan. To drown or bleed out and fade away into the sea.

The coming out went just as Charles had planned, with the exception of the dress his daughter was wearing. But he had to admit, such a bold choice certainly made her stand out among the other debutantes she was competing against. A novel invention, and he was already anticipating what fine connections Lydia could bring him. Lydia herself played the part of the dutiful daughter, laughing and flirting as much as propriety allowed with the various suitors who came to fill her dance card. And the longer the night went on, the more people were less likely to notice her absence. After one final dance, she excused herself, saying that she needed some air and that she would return in a moment.

Lydia hurried to her room, and kicked off the flimsy slippers she’d worn all evening for her more sturdy heeled boots, hoping their construction would both ease her departure, and add to the weight which would drag her into the waters below. She retrieved the note and laid it on her pillow, snuffed out her candles, and then used the servants passages to escape the estate. She hurried through the town, thankfully not so far away that she could get to the harbor with relative ease. But just as she was gathering up her skirts to start climbing the battlements that would be her pyre, she stopped. There was a plethora of ships floating calmly on the water, but docked at the very end was a ship she’d never before seen. It was caked with decay and barnacles, the wood looked old and decrepit. The figurehead at the ships bow was defaced, the original sculpture unrecognizable in the mess of splintered and gouged wood. Sails with massive holes in the canvas billowed gently in the evening breeze. The hull was blackened, as though it had been scorched, and it looked in Lydia’s novice opinion that it shouldn’t even be floating right now. And yet it was. Something about the vessel drew her in, like there was more to it than met the eye. And then she spotted the gangplank resting just above the entrance to the ship. Almost within reach, but still so far away. Instantly, Lydia wanted to board it, though she could scarcely explain why. But the ship called to her, as though it was just as lonesome of herself. She quickly glanced around, the port was deserted.

She knew that she knew better. But then again, what better way to show her dad she never wanted to see him again than sneaking aboard a ship bound for parts unknown and then drowning herself. Forever lost at sea, she could haunt it just like her mother. She could finally see the world, beyond the expectations of her as a lady of wealth and fortune. All she needed to do was get onto the deck. It should be said that most proper ladies would not have any skills with a rope. But Lydia was not and never had been such a lady. Her mother, and the Addams family in general, had believed in the power of knowledge and self-reliance. So, Lydia had learned lots of things she likely shouldn’t have, and therefore she knew how to tie and throw a rope. She managed to lasso the gangplank and pull it down, landing with a thump that echoed loudly in the evening silence. Lydia held her breath for a moment, hoping no one on board had heard it. When no one came to investigate, she let out a sigh of relief and quickly boarded.

BJ BJ BJ

If the hull of the ship looked damaged, it was nothing compared to the deck. Lydia was even more in awe at the fact that it remained floating. It looked more like a ghost ship than anything. But whatever, so long as it was leaving here, Lydia didn’t care. She just needed to get out into the open water, and then she could complete her plan. The wood creaked under her feet, loudly. Perhaps louder than the thump of the gangplank had been. Hurriedly she ran to the side where she hoped no one would find her until she could get to a hiding place down in the hold. Placing her back against the wall she tried to calm her frantic heart. She knew she was dangerous, but her worry was less what they might do to her, and more that they might return her for ransom. That would be a fate worse than death, locked up in a loveless marriage for her father’s financial gain.

By some miracle, she managed to make it down into the hold. It was dark, only dimly lit by scant lanterns. Lydia was just wondering where she might find a suitable place to hide when someone flat out ran into her. She stumbled back and saw a rather handsome man quickly reaching for her arms to steady her,

“Scare bleu,” he muttered, with the distinct accent of a true frenchman, though his coloring might bely such an origin, “I am so sorry-” but he cut himself off when he saw her fully, “Mon dieu,” he muttered again, “Who ar’ you, and how did you get on board?”

“Uh…”

“Jacques honey!” she heard another, distinctly female voice call out, “What’s the hold up on those sails that need mending, I’m getting ready to tap out for the-” this voice to paused as a young woman with hair bleached blonde by the sun and tanned golden skin stopped short behind him. And when Lydia said short, she meant short, the woman was possibly shorter than her, but definitely looked older.

“Oh my,” she sucked in a breath as she took Lydia in, “What… a… sweet little thing!”

And she surged forward to get a better look at her, “And such good taste too! Just look at this fabric content, they certainly don’t make them like they used to!”

“Ginger,” the other man, Jacques began, rubbing at the space between his brows, “We don’t ‘ave time for ‘zis, if ze captain finds her ‘ere-”

“Oh lighten up sugar,” Ginger tutted, “I never get to see such fine fabric work, just a little longer,” and then she turned what Lydia had to assume was a pair of big doe eyes at him and added a, “Please?” so sweet and endearing it didn’t take more than a moment for the man to visibly give in.

“We are going to get in so much trouble for zis,” he sighed resignedly, “Alright, un moment more, but no more zhan zat, oui?”

“Of course darlin’,” Ginger nodded, “Now hon,” she turned her attention back to Lydia, “What’s a girl like you, in a getup like that, doin’ in a place like this? You sign a deal or what?”

“A deal?” Lydia cocked her head to the side in confusion, “I didn’t sign any deal.”

“Well you must have,” Ginger folded her arms at her, “Otherwise you wouldn’t be here,”

“Um… actually…” Lydia began, feeling her face heat with embarrassment, “I kind of… snuck onboard?”

“You stowed away?” the other two gasped, now looking less cheerful and far more frightened, “But that’s impossible-”

“I mean, I saw your ship in the harbor and-”

“Wait,” Jacques interrupted, “You _saw_ our ship?”

“Yes?” Lydia replied hesitantly, not understanding what the big deal was, “Look I’m sorry I snuck aboard but if you just listen-”

“But…” Jacques shook his head, “Zhat, Zhat is impossible!” he reached forward and touched at her hair, then slid down to her neck where he paused at the thump of her pulse and immediately drew back as if he’d been burned, “Mon dieu,” he muttered, descending further into his native tongue in his worry, “Un fille vivante… sur un bateau de morts!”

Ginger shook her head frantically, “Oh no hon,” her voice wavered, “You need to get off this thing, _now_.”

“Wait, why?” Lydia took a step back as the two began to close in on her, “I know I’m not supposed to be here but if you’d just listen-”

“No, mademoiselle,” Jacques shook his head, “We need _vous_ to listen to us, you do not belong here, and you need to leave now before ze captain catches you ‘ere,”

There were very few things Lydia Deetz was afraid of. She was actually an oddball among the other young debutantes because of this. She did not blanch at blood or injury, she did not faint at the sight of a rat or bug, and she didn’t even flinch at the mention of things a delicate lady such as herself shouldn’t ever hear. But the prospect of being dropped back on the mainland, forced to deal with her father and married off to the most well connected suitor left her terrified. So Lydia did the only other thing she could; she ran. At the very least if she could hide until they were already out to sea it wouldn’t matter what they did with her then. Either way, she would likely end up dead, which was where she wanted to be.

Lydia heard shouts, almost concerned as she blindly raced through a vessel she didn’t know at all, thanking her lucky stars she’d chosen sturdy shoes as opposed to dancing slippers. The deck came into view and Lydia got her second wind. The corset was really doing a number on her ability to breathe, but so long as she could find a spot to rest and recover she felt she would be fine. Unfortunately, it looked like the alarm had been raised, and there were more voices coming from all directions. Directions were shouted for the anchor to hoist. So close, so very close. But as she turned a corner she saw a great hairy beast tower above her. It had no eyes, and only a giant gaping mouth. Because she was already in flight her senses were not reacting the way they would normally, all she saw was not a scary monster but rather another obstacle to her goal standing in the milky light of the moon. But it looked like her escape was coming to an end. A crowd was growing around her, slowly caging her in. But under the light of the moon Lydia idly realized that those surrounding her were not human. She saw skeletons, ghosts, other monstrous beings. And then it almost looked like one flew through the sky though it was obviously done with the aid of a rope and pulley, landing with a thump on the deck and letting out a low and chilling chuckle. But Lydia wasn’t entirely sure the shiver that went down her spine was one of fear.

Still hopped up on adrenaline, Lydia rushed her turn, stumbling face first into a broad chest, and a very grimy set of clothing. Dingy and dirty and smelling of the sea. The chuckle she’d heard just a moment ago rumbled again, deeper with her pressed up against the cavity of its owners chest. She put her hands up and shoved herself away from the man, and found herself staring into a blazing set of eyes. It was a man, at least… he _looked_ like one. Somewhat anyways. And he was eyeing her like a starving man eyes his first meal in days. A disgusting smirk curled at the corner of his lips as he took her in, and then he spoke,

“Well, well, well,” he began, eyes grinning with dark amusement, “Now what have we got here?”

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought. Thank you all so much for reading, until next time Netherlings!


End file.
